Red United
by VforVoltaire
Summary: " I stand where my people stand," He answers calmly. This was almost always his stand when it came to politics within his lands, and to him it seemed to be an understandable answer. Ivan could take that whichever he wanted, and perhaps spare Yao of this. " And where do your people stand?" Ivan presses. Yao pauses. " Hopefully...Together. Soon."
1. Chapter 1

" You've changed."

The one observation hangs in the air, an invisible barrier between the two men. For a moment there is silence. The shorter one of the duo stares up at the other with a neutral expression, expressing neither anger, nor happiness at seeing him.

The tallest glances back down at him, amethyst eyes clashing with amber ones.

" That is the funny thing about time Comrade. It does that."

Chapter 1.

Maps are glorious things, at least that is what this young man thought. When alone he would find himself getting lost in the geographical drawings that seemed to never run scarce in the small room. This map happened clearly depicted the 'Middle Kingdom' highlighting its rivers in bright gold,depicting them as golden threads on the green fabric that was China.

A slender finger runs across the Yangtze, tracing its bends with admiration. It can be said that he has a certain fixation with maps, especially this one of his homeland.

When his fingers ghost over the Himalayas a small call of his name scatters all thoughts.

" ….Your tea," a young voice chirps through the thin wooden door. The small slivers of a smile make themselves present on the mans face as he slowly rises and makes his way over to the door, the promise of the hot drink lures him over with purpose.

The young woman,who held the platter in her small hands,looks up at him with tired black eyes and a countenance that seemed to be the only noticeable feature on her otherwise softly rounded face. Her neatly tied back hair displays the slight signs of distress from a day of work, for a few stray hairs broke free from the tightly wound prison of her bun.

China the personification-takes mental note of her appearance. War,it seemed, could erode the youth from anyone. The surrender of Japan in the summer of '45 signaled the end of the second world war, and a ragged sigh of relief was collectively shared around the world. This collective expression wasn't shared equally with all the nations however. War still continued within the lands of the Chinese people.

To fight against the Japanese and then turn around to fight their own people proved not only to be very taxing on the soldiers, and the civilians, but also their personification who stood before this young attendant, a tired and emotionally worn man.

A small please and thank you are exchanged between the two in their native tongue and he takes small pride in the fact that common courtesy was still a thing in times like these.

When the woman leaves him to his lonesome he allows the tea to rest for a moment to stare into the honey colored liquid and the tea leaves that laid underneath the hot surface. At least there was still tea as well. The personification considers these miniscule things to be little lights of accomplishments.  
"At least there is still tea," he says aloud with a timid smile that felt way too forced.

He starts to sway slightly in his seat before lifting the handleless cup to his lips and tasting the sweet liquid this years harvest had to offer. The tea proves itself to be as delicious as it was fragrant. Heat forces him to sip slowly,and his slender golden eyes drift back to the map. China seemed so much better flattened down to drawings that preserved its natural beauty. Its past glory.

The Eastern Asian nation stands once more, bringing his tea with him while he heads to the door.

A walk after sitting here idly for so long seems to be much deserved at this point. Upon sliding the door open it reveals another body standing proudly behind it.

" How did you know I was here Yao?" The grinning man asks in his usual cheery tone. Yao yells in surprise, threatening to spill the beloved tea from his spasmodic movements. The other laughs at this, obviously amused, before inviting himself inside the small study.

" My apologies then. I seemed to have surprised you," he muses.

Yao takes a few more seconds to recover from the initial shock of this mans sudden appearance and slowly tilts his chin upwards to display a soft frown.

"And don't you always have a knack for doing that Russia," Yao responds pointedly. The day his neighbouring nation announces that he is visiting beforehand is the day Yao understands westerners.

" Why are you here?Business?" Yao inquires warily as he watches Russia take immediate interest in his books and maps scattered messily about his study. He observes how the other runs his gloved hands over the globe almost possessively.

" Why so formal? Call me Ivan like I call you Yao," Ivan responds, not answering the question,nor giving any hint that he would answer what he was asked either.

Ivan has always been a strange man Yao has grown increasingly wary of over the decades. Fear wasn't the appropriate word, although the other nations would agree that Ivan did have an ominous or even intimidating air about him, but Yao could only see him as just strange and sometimes hard to understand.

The two seemed to be opposites in a lot of things as well, this fact adding onto the mysteries they both found in each other. Ivan posses airy platinum blonde hair that wasn't too carefully styled but still neat in a way, and struggled to pass his reddened ears. Yao dons ink black hair that fell like the silk his country used to pride itself on around his shoulders. Ivan had eyes like blooming violets, they were gentle like the smile that seemed to be painted onto his face. Everything else about him however was as if his creator enlarged him to add fine details(such as his dimples) and forgot to return him to a comprehensible size. He towers over the older nation and is widely built, not fat, yet thick in structure.

In contrast Yao was of a smaller build, not as tall, and possessed various amounts of androgyneity throughout his features. His eyes were a somber golden color, and the most unusual part about him, but also the most interesting.

"Alright...Ivan. What brings you to China?" Yao tries again, a bit slower. His accent always threatened to make Ivan's name unrecognizable, so he takes care to try to say it as consciously as possible, but the van always came out as wahn.

The boorish Russian didn't seem to mind this much because his smile remained unaltered. Perhaps this is from amusement at Yao's shortcoming. This thought both annoys, and humiliates Yao to no end.

Ivan hums thoughtfully, almost as if the reason for his being here was truly forgotten. As he hums Yao carefully watches as the others fingers press into the outline of his own country and push forwards through Mongolia and into his home. Gold eyes shift upwards and stare at him unrelentingly.

" Im here to bear witness," Ivan claims finally. At this Yao's brow raises. What interest would Ivan have in his nations affairs? At Yao's confusion Ivan smiles wider and he glares at the other with a childlike naughtiness.

" Surely you know,Da? Mao is finally the Chairman of your country now. You will be like me, like the Soviets." Like him? Was this a welcome visit? A congratulations?

" What makes you so sure that my people will be like yours? That I will be like you?" Yao asks him carefully. It isn't that being Ivan would be such a horrible thing, but Yao would very much prefer to remain the way he was now, himself, and the same.

The russian nation falters at the lack of enthusiasm. His hand leaves the globe quickly, causing it to spin softly. His boots still damp from snow, walks over to Yao. Yao feels as if his shoulders have gotten heavier from the weight of this stare on him. His pride of course gets the better of him, his chin tilting up in response to this defiantly. Russia observes this before smirking. If you asked him what truly made Yao so interesting to him, he would say it was the masks he wore.

" Tell me Comrade. Where do you stand in this new political spectrum? Did you place your loyalties with your nationalists? Are you not satiated with their defeat, and Mao's victory?" These questions fly like bullets out of Ivan's mouth, but they bounce off of Yao's hardened exterior when he raises a hand to signal a cease fire.

" I stand where my people stand," He answers calmly. This was almost always his stand when it came to politics within his lands, and to him it seemed to be an understandable answer. Ivan could take that whichever he wanted, and perhaps spare Yao of this.

" And where do your people stand?" Ivan presses. Yao pauses.

" Hopefully...Together. Soon." Yao takes a seat and motions for the other to do the same. At the invitation Ivan balks and stares at the other nation while trying to comprehend what he could have meant by that. Nevertheless he grins.

" Such a trivial answer as always," The soviet comments before sitting across from him. Yao sighs in relief momentarily.

" That is what I like about you Yao."

" Oh?"

" Yes. You are unreadable, Always unreadable, I hope to learn how one day," Ivan smirks, hinting at a slightly darker meaning behind his words. China looks at him and then back at the tea again. He would offer the other tea,but Ivan didn't care much for it anyways and tea left to turn cold disturbed the eastern Asian far more than it should.

" How to read me?" Yao asks with what he considers to be just hesitance.

"Fluently," Ivan elaborates. At these words Yao sips his tea and chooses not to press the matter any further. It was too unsettling.

" How have you been doing since the war….I heard that Stalin is a very strict man, that he rules like a man of steel." Would Mao be the same? Did the people of Russia like this ruler? Would his people tolerate Mao's rule?

" He does what is best I think. He keeps everyone in line."

" Is working for him good for you as well Ivan?" Yao presses, expressing his genuine concern. Ivan nods surely and his expression softens. He leans closer eagerly, enjoying the questions like a child does attention.

" Everything is getting better. All will be perfect in due time. I know this."

" When did you get so opportunistic?"China muses. Ivan merely chuckles loudly and grips the table with his gloved hands. That was the only answer he would provide, a sound of merriment to a silly question.

" How long have you been sitting here Comrade? Let's go do something else, Let us go eat. I'm wasting away," Russia whines. Yao nods, dinner would do them both well.

" Even if you were to start wasting away you wouldn't finish until the 90's," Yao comments smugly. Ivan pouts at the joke, but gets up to follow the other anyways.

"I want you to cook for me Yao, not your workers." Yao nearly scoffs. Who exactly did Ivan think he was? To show up and question him like he did and then have the audacity to demand food from him.

Yao opens his mouth to chastise the other but is interrupted when Ivan places a hand on his shoulder.

" I only ask this because you cook the best of course!" The older nations face changes to one of annoyance to one of slight appreciation at this, leaving his scolding to be repressed. Yao grins finally.

" Then I shall cook you something delicious. Something to lighten even the lowest of spirits!" The self proclaimed chef exclaims; The thought of good food emboldened him to put a slight skip in his step as he walks past the other. Ivan nods and follows the ancient home.

It's not very clear why sugared cakes, hot soups, and slices of duck seemed to alleviate any sadness Yao had for even the smallest bit of time. As he shares this meal he forgets to pity both himself, and the others taken away by the carriage of death war coached. Instead he focuses on the delightful tastes of his homeland. At least this one thing would remain comfortably the same.


	2. A Dangerous Game

Chapter 2

Friendship treaty?" Yao questions with furrowed brows. The new chairman merely glances back at him and points with his fingers at the document that had been signed merely hours before. Yao nods as if to say he understands the fact that the document exists, but why was still his question.

" We already have one...Why make another?" The personification asks. Mao shakes his rounded head and slides the papers forward for the others viewing.

" That treaty was with the Republic of China. This is a new age Wang Yao. Times have changed and so have we," He says sternly as he watches Yao skim the papers. As he reads some of the confusion only alleviates. Did the two leaders view each other as threats? They were both communist and readers of Marx, was this truly friendship or just an alliance guaranteeing that the two wouldn't get in each others way. He reads his nation's newly enforced name 'The Peoples Republic of China' and it's like reading a blatant spelling error of a word as simple as the. It, like everything else, would take some getting use to.

Certain words stand out more than the others, the constant mentions of Japan, and military for example. His hands shake just a bit but he dismisses his actions with a steady breath. Something did seem to be triggered by reading the name, and having it fresh in his mind once again. Yao slides the paper back bitterly, as if it had stung him, and in a way it did. Mao looks up at him passively before continuing to write notes to himself.

" I want you to befriend that Russian. This is not an option. Keep our relations good on all terms to show that China is committed as much as they are."

" I don't like making friends," the nation replies flatly while he glares at the other. To befriend Ivan because he wanted friendship from another would be fine, but to befriend him out of diplomacy simply seemed too much like a lie. It's not like they weren't already...acquaintances in a sense anyways. Yao viewed almost all his fellow nations as acquaintances. A first name basis and respect was all he really wanted. He prefers the isolation and the thoughts of only himself. Simply put his thoughts are the only one he hears, and the only ones he likes.

"This isn't a debate Wang Yao. The age of Communism has come upon us. It would be nothing but beneficial to keep such a strong superpower as a close ally if we want the same prosperity for our own great nation."

Reading over the treaty again he gains a new understanding of it's purpose, as well as a sense of shame from it all. He accepts that as of right now his country was paranoid, damaged, and too weak to not use any crutch they could take right now. A weak wry scoff leaves his lips before he could think against it.

Mao opens his mouth to speak but a knock on the door forces him to merely frown at the chinese man before telling the person outside the door to come in.

A familiar large nose pokes itself inside, causing both men to stand immediately.

" Lunch is ready," Ivan beams before opening the door fully to reveal the stern faced Soviet leader next to him. Stalin was a tough looking older man. Yao notes the mustache he possesses which looks like his nose had sprouted two fat legs and was preparing to jump off of his face. His sleek salt and pepper black hair was combed back into an average style, and he wore a military Jacket.

Ivan stands by Stalin, and Yao by Mao as the two leaders exchange a few words and then depart, leaving the two personifications behind to stare (in Ivan's case) At each other. Slowly the chinese man looks up at him, his stomach feeling uneasy by the sudden awkward silence that had befallen them. Ivan laughs a bit and moves backwards a few steps. Instinctively Yao steps forward, not really knowing why he did so.

"Let's leave the old men to their own fun, let us go do something! I wish to take you somewhere," Ivan beams before turning to leave. It wasn't really an offer it appears, Yao would have to follow him eventually. China stares at the now empty doorway with a blank expression for a few minutes before realizing that the other would seriously leave without him.

"Hey! Wait Ivan I'm coming," He calls out aimlessly before rushing after him.

Yao stares at the company warily and then at Ivan, the only familiar one in this small puddle of strange room is dimly lit by the small bulb that swings precariously from the wooden ceiling. The shadows in the room only serve to heighten the ominous feel of the room and the nauseating odor of Vodka and something else that just doesn't belong.

"Why is Chinese man here Ivan?" A man slurs. Said man possesses a narrow face with small craters on his cheeks and nose as if someone had taken a small knife and carved out small holes in his face for play. Tiny hairs can be seen sprouting from his chin and his hair-if he had any- was hidden under the hat he kept firmly pressed on his head.

Yao glares at him for his rudeness.

" I am his company," he snaps defensively. It was bad enough he had hope that Ivan would take them to somewhere appropriate, but to be referred to as just his ethnicity is something else. Yao's feistiness at this rudeness earns him a breathy laugh from Ivan who pats his shoulder like one would pet a small angry dog to soothe it. The Chinese man of course smacks his hand away in offence.

The Russian that insulted Yao scowls and looks to Ivan to defend him against this newcomers sharp tongue, but is heavily disappointed to see Ivan smile that same cheerful smile and do nothing. Golden eyes shift constantly as they search for an exit. Maybe he could say he was cold...But how could he when Ivan had not only insisted that he layer up, but also so generously provided. The coat is saturated with white fur that he thinks once belonged to a magnificent creature, no doubt about it. Besides the shawl like fur accompaniment he is also dressed in black with gold decorated buttons on his jacket and boots that he likes to run his gloved fingers over.

'I am cold' can not be an excuse nor can he say he is hungry, for Ivan also made sure to feed him. Did this brute purposely take away any excuse he could have made!? His small head turns enough to witness Russia smiling fondly down at him. China quickly looks away and focuses his attention to the four men around then, the rude one included.

They all seemed to fit in the same category. Large burly aged men of different shapes and smells that could make anyone stop and stare at them for a good period of time to process their features. It was only intimidating to be around everyone. Yao takes note of the prominent distinguishing features they have and gives them names accordingly.

The Rude one, The stern one, the bald one, and the blinded one. He could tell by the cloudiness in the one eye that the blinded one couldn't possibly see out of it. Politely he looks away from him instead of staring at the disfigurement. The bald one speaks up, saying they should get the game started already before the snow threatens to lock them in.

They talk to each other in Russian and pass around Vodka and cards while Yao sits there quietly, hoping to go unnoticed. His Russian was fine, but don't expect him to speak it. Like everything else he did, it was very accented and he disliked using any other language besides his own unnecessarily. Much to his dismay 5 cards are placed in front of him as well as a smaller glass than all the others were offered. 'It is a stereotype that the chinese can't handle their liquor' he comments internally.

"Ivan….I can't play poker I don't know how," He whispers to other a bit sheepishly as he watches the others place their money on the table. Ivan looks at his cards and then at Yao.

" Do you wish to play something else then Yao?" He asks him earnestly. At this there is a hard clank of metal on the table and it is pushed forward under the light. A Nagant M1895 identical to the ones he has come to know because of the fact that Ivan always had one on him.

Yao stares at the gun and then up at the Rude one who had placed it on the table. Was he threatening him? Attempting to intimidate him? The presence of the lethal metallic object is met with a few drunken chuckles and nods of agreement.

" Do you really have nothing left to lose?" the bald one laughs with a shake of his wrinkled head to follow. The rude one just keeps his eyes on Yao and grins.

" That's the cost of war, you give your body, but you lose everything else around you. A bullet cannot hurt me," He replies. Admittedly there is a lump in Yao's throat upon hearing this. He has always considered the russians to be strange in both their language and their culture, but this put him off to no end. Only fools play so loosely with guns. He watches with wide eyes as the rude one takes the gun and holds it against his temple and wraps his gloved fingers against the trigger.

The asian man looks to Ivan for some sort of guidance. Surely he'd stop this...This is just a dark prank correct? People don't actually play around like this. Ivan watches with dull interest in his purple eyes. Willing himself to focus on a stain on the wall, he forces himself to look away, but the click still made his shoulders raise a bit quickly. There was no bang heard after, no sound of combustion and liquid hitting the floor.

The gun is passed to his left, and the same process was repeated yet again. The boisterous bastard he came here with takes the revolver and places it against his temple before clicking it twice and passing it to Yao.  
" Are you mad. I will not take part in such foolery," He snaps before making an attempt to stand. A strong grip on his arm however seats him down again and the gun is placed in his hand. Immortality is something that never really crossed his mind until the time to prove it presented itself in an often unpredicted and agonizingly slow moment. 'I'm going to die' is the sentence he usually tells himself before closing his eyes, and accepting the logic of the circumstance before letting it happen. The logic he could understand...Everything dies, even immortals, but unlike everything considered dead he would come back. Born again in the heart of his homeland intact, and sometimes scarred. Slowly he lifts the loaded gun and presses it against his forehead.

Has he been in such a situation before? In war only a few times before. However you have to kill the people to kill the country, and that's how it will always be.

His eyes squeeze shut and he pulls the trigger after trying his best to mentally prepare himself for what was to come next. The pressure on the trigger tightens instinctively when his eyes fly open and a gasp of relief is given. He survived what felt like what seemed to be the longest thirty seconds this century.

China looks at everyone for confirmation that he was indeed still alive before them, unwounded and intact. The men look at him quizzically before motioning for him to pass the gun on to the next player. After doing so Yao strangely looks up to Ivan as if to make sure he watched him do it. To assure that Ivan had at least seen that Yao had done what was asked of him, with hesitance yes, but it was done. The loud pop and the wet feeling on his cheeks violently break him free of this want for praise. The men immediately get up and back up from the table, each one of them raising their hands as if to say " I didn't do it." The Chinese man doesn't dare turn around to see what the final result of the man next to him was. The reality of this game was far too cruel for him to really comprehend all in one moment, the reality of the game is also running down his face in red streams.

Ivan picks up the vodka bottle left behind and wipes the mess free moments before bringing the liquor to his lips and lowering it just as quickly.  
" Well. There it is," He says.

" Good game."

Yao stays frozen on the ground, feeling warmth pool around his boots and knees. The unwelcomed feeling forces him upwards and backwards against the wall. Because of his uncareful movements he catches a glimpse of the mess, and the new stain on the wall threatening to join the others in their blackness.

They say curiosity killed the cat, that cat happened to be Wang Yao's ability to hold in his lunch. Quickly he excuses himself to be outside in the snow. The coldness out here could be easily be summer compared to the coldness inside that small shed. The man walks through the snow at a slow but purposeful pace even though they made his thighs ache. Soon he's on all fours and dry heaving as his golden eyes search the snow for an answer to what just took place.

'I could have taken it, at least then I would have survived...Death for such a silly game wasn't necessary. How can men play around so easily with the lives of others. It doesn't take thousands of years to know that all lives do matter….

He waits to be sick, he waits to expel the feeling of this sin from himself, but nothing happened. The most he is greeted with is the harsh sting of the wind on his cheeks and the hot feeling of snow seeping into his gloves.

A gentle hand is placed on his shoulder and rubs at it for a moment.

"Calm down Yao. That's just how the game works," Ivan says before plopping his body into the snow next to him, and continuing to pat the other.  
"J-just...A game! You think the death of others is just a game!?" Yao shouts incredulously. The force he puts into knocking Ivan's hand off of him causes him to turn over and fall back into the snow. This gives him a good view of the Cabin he left behind only moments ago. Through the windows he can see the commotion inside.

" Life is a game," Ivan protests a bit childishly.

" Everyone dies Yao, one day or another it's inevitable. His death just happened to be tonight."

Ivan stares off at the shed and watches unflinching as the body is removed from the small building in a bag and disposed of through the use of liquor and fire. If the water around them wasn't frozen it would be a vikings funeral, he would have liked it that way.

" It could have been me. I think...I would have prefered to take the bullet instead of having someone mortal die for such a silly thing aru," the nation whispers. Ivan turns his head towards him and puts the Vodka bottle in his lap.

" It couldn't have been you," he says surely. With this remark Yao stares at him. 'It couldn't have been you,' he repeats in his head over and over. It was a one in six chance of dying. So how could Ivan be so sure with the odds so high? Perhaps he counted, perhaps he's talking nothing but nonsense as usual. Still there's an eerie feeling from his words and it's colder than the wind outside.

"Is it possible to cheat death?" He finds himself asking softly before bringing the vodka bottle to his lips and taking a large gulp of the stinging liquid.

"That's the funny thing about us Yao. We cheat death all the time."

He doesn't respond this time, instead he watches the flames eat the man he sat next to minutes before, and drinks till he forgets his face.


	3. Chapter 3

1950-1953

"Who thought we'd be involved in a war again so soon," A soldier comments idly to the nation next to him as he cleans off his blackened blade. China looks towards him and keeps his hands in his pockets. Korea was in winter now, and it was bitter like the warfare that had just taken place hours ago.

Frozen bodies litter the ground, and threaten to be buried early in the snowfall. Yao can't turn a blind eye to his fellow men, and perhaps that is why he was here in the first place. To bear witness.

"War is savage, but conflict is necessary to clear room for improvement," He responds to him calmly. The soldier looks at him curiously for a moment before grinning. China was improving, at least it seemed that way. The fallen dragon was finally regrowing the scales that used to be desired by the western hemisphere, and it was rising. At least that is what Mao had told him.

'A Five Year Plan' he had proposed not too long ago. A plan to make China great again was already in action, and living up to it's purpose so far.

"So what do you think then? People will die, but it's for the good of the Republic yes?" Yao pauses for a moment to look at him and raises a frosted brow at his question.

"You ask these things as if you have no faith in your nation's morals and ambitions," He responds to the soldier in a slightly warning tone. There's a small sense of doubt in his head that is forced away. Doubt of any kind couldn't be allowed. Not when they were coming this far…..But what if the death of his fellow men only soiled the earth they aimed to make valuable again?

"Am I not allowed to question what my brothers are dying for?" The soldier responds sharply. There's an unrelenting silence.

"It would be wise for you to voice these concerns inside your head only, and not to me aru," China responds finally. There's a passive response from the soldier before he picks up his boots and trudges away. This leaves him to his own conflicting thoughts, and the winter wind smacking at his face.

Overhead a plane flies over, an unfamiliar one, and his stomach drops at the sight of it. Planes were starting to become more and more infamous with him. The small metallic birds left anything but small reminders of their presence by the time they were through. They were like geese of death.

Russia stares at the golden petaled flower that protruded from the somewhat ugly, but strong green stem he was rolling between his gloved fingers. This is what he would normally spend any free time doing when not involved with politics of the USSR. As a nation you could never take a vacation, there was no time to simply exist and leave it that, or at least now a days it seemed that way.

He finds himself taking vacations in the petals. Small citrine vacations with thoughts of concentrated sunlight, cream, and warm sand that often found itself in the most unpractical places. A small smile tugs at his thin pale lips and grows to something a bit wider than that.

In this house he is gorgeously secluded from the unreality of the reality that stands at the door to the greenhouse. Here, is the paradise that grew from the soil of his private labors. His eye of the storm. The storm varied from time to time, ranging from rioting, to corruption, from scandals, to strange men in the palace halls with promises of miracles. All instances warranted a vacation like this one. The damp yellow petals left soft spots of darkness on his felt gloves and to the nation it was almost as if the flower was crying. He'd comfort it of course by stroking it's petals and wiping the tears away with his large awkward fingers.

Slowly the doors of the hideaway open and hollow footsteps fill the glass room. Ivan remains silent in hopes that whoever it was would go away if they couldn't find him in this garden of Eden. Even his affection towards the flowers stop when someone else enters as if he the slightest rub would give him away. It doesn't seem to matter how quiet he remained, he was still found within a few minutes. His sister always seemed to have a knack at locating him whether he wanted her to or not.

Belarus he has always considered to be an odd girl. She was, in his eyes, the giggle at a funeral. Silently she stands before the man she has come to call her brother before taking a seat beside him as to not disturb him while he was like this. It's very well known to her that Ivan took these moments to be alone, but he'd just have to accept that he'd have to be all by himself, with her right beside him. Ivan looks towards her silently with a childish annoyance in his eyes, but it subsides quickly when the tension dissipates to nothingness once more.

"How are you?" He asks in an effort to make conversation. She was already here, so he might as well. She turns her small head towards him, her feminine features stoic and void of expression as always. He struggles to remember a time when a smile used to be on those wintery lips of hers.

"Better now," she answers monotonously while she stares up at him behind her straw colored lashes. From the corner of his eyes he looks at her. It can be said that she is comparable to a flower much like the ones that grow here in his abode and under his care. Like the plants rooted in the pots around them she flourished near him.

Like himself her hair was trapped sunlight that must have been captured on a chilly winter morning, but her eyes were vivid in color although they were often shielded by a bush of eyelashes when she blinked. All around she was pretty, but seemed to only come with one expression which bored him.

Ivan then returns his attention back to his ideal flower then. The sunflower smiles at him.

"There are talks of his death all around Brother," The young woman whispers. At her words Ivan immediately frowns. With those words she had brought the insects of the outside world he was trying to avoid by coming in here. Ivan looks at her expectantly.

"As there would be for any war Belarus," he says to both address and dismiss. The Korean war had escalated more than he honestly thought it would due to the meddling Americans and their policies to spread their capitalist values to those conforming to the Unions ways. Ivan taps a heavy finger against the stem as he thinks before groaning. He had come in here to escape thoughts of America and the Korean brothers for now. Ivan turns his head to her and sighs.

"Natashka. A war in Korea is not the end of the Union, nor is it the end of us living together," He promises. If it still troubles you here is another thing to keep in mind. China has entered the war as well. Ambushed the Пиндос when they least expected it." From what he was told the Americans were enjoying something they called Thanksgiving. Now it seemed that the only ones who could be giving the thanks were the ones that survived the retreat from attacking Chinese soldiers.

"They aim to contain our beliefs whereas we aim to spread them, and if you ask me puppeting a civil war is much easier than to go to war again with our own countries at risk so soon. The last thing the world needs is an angry boy with a weapon." Belarus looks at her brother and remains silent for now. Her questions have been answered with the prideful explanations only her brother could create for her.

He seemed to have much else to say about the matter and she notices this because of the way he lost interest in the flower he was holding and gave it to the empty space in front of them instead. She can't tell who he is thinking about, but it seems like his worries were reserved for someone else and not herself which causes her lips to perse.

"I hear….You will travel to the war zone, and then to China," she says. Before she can get an answer however a knock against the glass puts a pin in their idle conversation and the two are summoned for political matters. The two share expressions of disappointment, and Ivan is the first to stand and give his sister a dismissive glance as he walks to go open the door.


End file.
